Today frayed…

I woke today with a heavy mind, inspired to create a image, but lacking the courage to do so. I left the house today and went for coffee, it was a planned date. But the sour taste it left me with was not the quality or taste of the coffee.

People need to be whole. I have a habit of loving somewhat broken or lost souls. Through lessons and heartbreaks and betrayals, i actually spotted one before it turned into a destructive type of thing. Meeting people can be a beautiful thing, but the impression they leave upon you can be a stinging reminder of what you actually have to face up too. The impact we have on one another is some what lost in its importance. My medication needs changing, I need to readjust my life. The thing with medication is it strips you of something, sometimes feelings, or intensity. Other times it gifts you with things, mostly side effects. But all in all the medication for the mind is no medication at all…. its just a crutch, a painkiller to soothe the ache or the hurt, the thoughts the imploding thoughts that pierce our nerves. Medication always takes a bit of someone away, they change that person. I didn’t realise that until a ex pointed out how the medications change aspects of me. And its true. I have had my medication changed a few months back, and this time its not working, i have gone through the adjustment period, i have gone through being a zombie. I have even adjusted the dosage myself. Then comes the realisation, ‘its not working’. So then i have to face that i have lost three months of my life to adjusting to something that doesn’t work, and now i have to loose another three months in a medicated induced state adjusting to new pills. I have to identify which part of m has changed then…. and i have to see if these make me stable, which means i expose myself to all the things that trigger me, to ensure that these pills have my back and won’t kick my arse.

 

I know this guy and he is about to be re-introduced to medication, after trying to deal with it by himself for so long. I am proud of him for trying, but i also seen a look in his eyes that made me want to cry. It was the look of ‘i have no other choice’. I have feel that every evening when i take my medication. I have to look at my reflection and i see that look in my eyes. I have never yet seen it in someone else’s.

When is anyone ever whole? And do you need to be whole to be loved? as if you aren’t can you sustain as much, enjoy as much, or even appreciate as much?

I have never dated anyone who has to be on medication, normally i am the ‘one’ on the meds. I have never seen so much of a reflection in someones tone and eyes as i did today. It broke me in ways i didn’t know i could break. But i know that i saved two souls from a mistake. That made me happy and proud of me today. It will be alright in the end, and if its not? Its not the end.

I have decided that to celebrate i have booked another tattoo….. which makes me a little bit more happy. As its a symbol of actually things to come.

Coffee and cigarettes …

Its a early hours in the morning kind of blog again. Bipolar kicks my arse and sometimes i let it… its nice to feel something other than medicatedly numb.

I was inspired to buy a camera because my heart got broke… I knew nothing of the damn thing, only the man who broke my heart had one. He captured images of me i was his subject and his muse. Then my heart was broke and he became my muse. Every image was haunted with him. Things i wanted to say or scream, things i wish he would see. Other things i just needed to release… find a part of me. With every self portrait i looked at the mens, like i did before when he held it. I gave the expression with my eyes. As a model you are not allowed to pull a expression with your face, no muscles must move within your face but you must pull your emotion through your eyes as if it were your soul, your heart. And you had it over to the camera. As soon as that shutter shuts, its captured a part of your soul. Anyone can pout, and anyone can smile, but to say it with your eyes… and let someone read your mind and soul is being naked.

It was through my images i met another man….. I thought my heart was broken and i had lost the love of my life. Then ‘this’ man strolled in. Well strolled is the wrong word, more like crashed. And for the first time in so long i actually ‘felt’ i felt something other than hollowness…. emptiness and anger. I felt love again. We went through so much from him leading a double life. From anger and rage, from both of us. From trust issues to lies. From prison and restraining orders and random stalking and phone calls. Theres always that pull. I think in loving him, i lost a piece of me. Every image over the last three years has some way been inspired by him. If it wasn’t through hurt, or anger, or betrayal. It was through despair it was through confusion. It was through painful aching love and worthlessness i felt. He was my inspiration. Every hurtful word he would say, would inspire me in some way. Every lovely gesture would inspire me. He is my portfolio, of my emotions, my journey. I think because of the bipolar i may feel alot deeper or react alot stronger to situations. Maybe its the writer in me? maybe its the melancholic soul i have? Maybe its because i’m a hopeless romantic? Maybe its because i don’t want to believe i fell in love with a monster and then he turned me into one. Theres alot of maybes and questions and ill probably never get them answered not really. Truth is i don’t want them answered as then i’m in a reality of the real. I have never been much fond of that. Maybe i read to many books and enjoy being tragically in love. Where is the fun in being happy? Its alien to me, it scares me, it panics me. It terrifies me. At least when things are wrong you know they can get any worse. But to be happy and then to fall…….. i know what that feels like. The happier you are the higher the height you fall from. So my advice ‘ never get to happy, enjoy it, but don’t think it will last. Trust me it never does’

 

Now for the worst confession of all time……. ‘Happiness writes white’ If i am happy no images appear, if I am happy no poems are written. I am inspired by heartbreak, by depression, by pain and by being hurt. I am a fucked up girl.  Theres ‘life’ and ‘death’ and then there nothing but sadness in-between, thats what i capture…. thats what I release. Everyone can look at a pretty image, only those who know the colour of the depths of depression and pain can look at ones that aren’t pretty and see the beauty. I guess thats why i wont do pretty pictures…. I don’t want fame from my images or to be ‘well known’ I refuse commissions that aren’t my style and pass them on to someone else. I wont change my style or message to cater to the masses…. or the majority. I fit in with the minority. The people who have not only been to the edge … but know whats over it. But to do that i cant be happy. I look through my stream on flickr or 500px and i can tell you the month and reason and feeling and why that photo was created. When i go back to Oxford, my happy place, my safe place, my home. I never do a shoot or take a picture. I take my camera every time but i cant take a picture i’m too happy and safe…. Im too in awe at being peaceful and calm.  I have to now torture myself with the insecurities i have, the questions and the hurt and suffer i sustained through my last relationship to still create images. For as long as i do that i’m never to move on…..

 

Would i prefer to be a tortured artist or a happy wife/girlfriend with mundane pictures?

Tortured artist every time.  I don’t want to see the world as it is… I want to see it and the other worlds within it. I want to show people they aren’t alone…. everyone can relate to one of my images. When that stops happening i will sell my camera. I have decided however to challenge myself like only i can do….. I am going to do short fifteen second videos too. So now i need to learn how to edit videos. Because for the things i cannot capture in one shot ……. which is rare…. but maybe if i can maybe do video editing maybe it will help me overcome some of my inspirational block. Or maybe i just need to be with the person who breaks me best as thats the only time i feel inspired or alive.

The puppeteer’s fear….

Theres love, and then theres control.

Which one you use on another human symbolize’s your insecurities, or lack there of.

Once upon a time…… there was a man, he was seen to be charming and sincere, he was seen to be attentive he was seen to be genuine. But, the tragedy of the story lay not with the princess but with the boy. As he never knew what love was.  He could neither give or receive the thing he wanted to feel the most. He met a girl, destined to meet, fate had decided this was what they both needed. They met, one fell in love, the other never did, he got the power. She was his puppet and him, the puppeteer.

Then one day after breaking in all of the ways a heart can break, shatter and splinter, crack and melt, hers did. She had no love left to give, she had bleed her love out in what she thought was a fruitless love. She crawled away, exhausted, defeated. Her mind was sore, oh so sore and confused. For why had fate gave her this man, this lesson, this hurt? she gained nothing, fractured faith, and injured perception of what she thought this man could be. She wallowed and healed and accepted the truth….. He never and would never love her true.

Then before the end, he returned, he tied again her in his control… he played with her mind, made her doubt the value of her worth. What he did not know was she was already too far gone, she had buried him. Fate had revealed the reason why she had to suffer so…. because this man and his cruel ways gave her something one day that not he could then ever take away. A chance. A introduction, to another man. He was tender, he was kind. He fell in love with this damaged girl and offered her nothing more than a key to his home and a place in his world. No coarse tone he ever used, no lies dripped from his lips, and he vowed to protect those he loved. He knew what love was and he knew the story … The story she didn’t have to tell him. He seen it in her eyes, he knew of the man that made her die and tied her in hell. He knew of the man who wanted to drag her back… and he offered her to go….. and she said no. In his arms she felt safe… in his home she knew she wanted to wait.

The puppeteers fear came when she no longer wanted to play… she had cut the strings, and chose to believe the red string of fate, was not cruel to her by mistake. She knew it was to lead her to this man who knew hurt, who knew sorrow and who knew love. Breaking free had never come so easy…… as soon as she seen what real love could be.

To be able to appreciate the sweet, one must be able to have tasted the sour. For the tastebuds to have burnt under the acid…. then slowly heal … so when you taste the sweet it makes love to your mouth, it intoxicates your mind and you know –  Nothing else will ever satisfy you again…..Not like this.

The ‘Word’

Its a early hours in the morning kind of blog again. This time its not because I am bipolar and cannot sleep. It is not because I have had my heart or mind ripped out of me again. This time its simply because….

 

I sit on a corner unit settee, with a marvel t-shirt on and pj bottoms. I sit with my hair scraped back and the lights out. From my macbook the only light illuminates. Unless i look out of the windows, which are straight ahead and i see the sky. Little pinheads of light looking down on me. The night owl that i am, i have become quite acustom to the stars and only really like the setting sun. My daughter is asleep, my lover too. And i lay tapping on my keys, passionatley as if i have something worth telling to anybody else. Or maybe its just good to tap it out for myself. I turned 29 today. I felt a depressing cloud hang over me all day, like the opaque grey cloud that blanketed the sky today. I didn’t cry, though i felt like i wanted too…. but watching the rain slide down the windows of today, i decided against descending into a full depression. I had a friend over, and visited my dad, i waited for my lover to return and only then did i feel at peace.

I haven’t had full blown anxiety in such a long while. But today it was the restless uncomfortable kind of anxiety. I traded uni work to curl on the settee around this man, this man who I am so scared to love. But even more scared that one day, soon. He may stop loving me. He may stop smiling at the thought of me, or even start smiling at the thought of someone else. Being damaged is a terrible thing. As you are gifted a complex you never wanted, and never thought of before. Now every little thing becomes a conscious thought of over analysising actions, tones, interpretations and words. Not realising before this complex you wear as normal as your own skin, what it was like to never even think of such little trial things. But now i do, I watch his phone, and even though its given to me freely i still feel somewhat uneasy. Thats the complex someone gave me, where their phone was a portal to be protected and guarded as it carried on it another life. I watch the way in which he turns when his phone beeps, but i find no flicker or insecurity. That soothes me, but it will be a scar i always carry with me, its now a damaged part of me. I could say i do not care and live free and for the moment. But to protect ones self from danger is instinct so now i act on instinct and not free affection and trust. Someone changed me in a way i will never be the same.

 

I have no doubt that one day i will not be young and beautiful and neither do i want to be forever. But one day when i no longer taste good t that persons palette what happens then.  As i have been a flavour a option for another man. I have been discarded like i was a ten year old newspaper. I have been praised and reeled in thinking ‘this is it’ I have then been left for somebody else. I have died in ways i didn’t know a soul could die, i have been hurt in ways i never knew a heart could sustain. I have believed when he apologised and i have believed when he said he’ll change. I have been violently awoken to a reality where no matter how good i was, or how well i obeyed, how faithful i stayed how loyal i remained. I was still condemned in another way. I still got betrayed. I was never good enough, i was never quick enough to catch him out. I was never understanding enough even after countless girls and a wasted three years, and now a therapy plan. The scars i have been left with are as much a part of my skin as the scars i often myself carve in.

Now, i have a guy who i forgot existed in this world. I thought hey were extinct. He bought me flowers – because he wanted too….. not because guilt had caused him too. He sends me text messages telling me how happy he is, or how much he adores me… not because he was messaging another girl at the same time on whatsapp and didn’t want me to get suspicious. He grabs me and kisses my forehead….. his arms wrap around me in a protective embrace. I don’t imagine his arms to hold me in any other way, than to protect me.  When i lay in bed with him he tickles my arm… or slings his arm around me in the middle of the night and like a bear pulls me in. Half asleep i smile… as even in his sleep he wants me near. He needs me for nothing, his ego is fine, his issues are almost non existence. He is a man with experience and with the most integrity i have ever known a man or human to have. He has emotions real ones, i can see and i can feel. He makes such a effort to make me feel safe, just encase i don’t. When all i need him to know, is that i have never felt safer. I wake every day counting down the hours till i can see him, not because i want to know where he is, or who he is messaging, or watch his every move. I just want him by me as we laugh, and we smile and he touches me and hugs me out of the blue. To watch a film and rest my head in his lap, my hair is where his fingers touch, i haven’t told him but its my favourite thing. I do not care for what girl he speaks to, or what girl he tattoos what girl he works with….. because they pose no threat. As he makes me feel he loves me, his word his promise isn’t tainted.

 

A man is only worth as much as his word

And this man has kept every word, every promise he has made to me. Every word or rhyme i write, however painful it was to write. He hasn’t got to read it to understand the meaning. He can read it in my eyes, with a doubtful glance or a inquisitive look. He understands that there is something more to me. He never asks and i shall never tell. But he pays such close attention he knows me beautifully well. He has seen a glint of my anger but it phases him none. He has seen me down, and it affects him none, He has seen me happy and high, and it phases him none. As long as I’m safe he will take me anyway. But i often wonder about the ‘one day’ when maybe i am a bit too much, when maybe love is not enough, when maybe i won’t do anymore, when maybe he sees all my good points as flaws… as these are the things that have happened to me before. Maybe i think too much, maybe i should just close my mac and creep over to bed and wrap his arms around me. Then I’m safe…. then everything is ok. Maybe i should run over and wake him with lots of kisses and tell him about this idea for a photoshoot….. and i know he will wake, and sleepily listen and agree or disagree or even encourage me a little bit more…. maybe he would grab me and tell me amazing like he has a million times, that he’s never met a girl so multi talented and beautiful and smart and funny, and independent and caring and quirky…brave and loyal…..He tells me how lucky he feels…. to have me… yet I don’t think he realises exactly what my life was before him. But then neither do i fully want him too…as because if he does thats all he may ever see…. a real damaged lost part of me.

I was told a few days ago ‘A piece of your heart has been carved out, its gone it will never return, and that hole thats gone it will forever hurt… but not because it makes you sad, but because it makes you feel lost, and incomplete’  This woman was a medium and she was right…..

But what if a soul mate mends your broken heart by simply giving you theirs…… Tomorrow i wake next to him, and we engrave each other with what we mark our body’s with best. He’s engraving my favourite portrait on my arm and poem on my thigh, and when he has finished…. he’s engraving his mark on me, as i asked him and he said only if he can wear a mark too. Thats when i thought he was too good to be true. But i won’t tell him that just yet…..